


There's Always A Next Time

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Tentacles, questionable science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: In which Kirk is reckless, Spock is mildly disapproving, McCoy know this is a bad idea, the transporter has a tantrum, and Sulu has to save everyone. As usual. Except this time there's a giant space octopus trying to kill them.No actual Spirk/Spones/McKirk/McSpirk, but can be read as pre any of those.Written for the Star Trek Reverse Big Bang 2018, in response to the amazing art ofSanwall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in 2268, which is about 5 years after Beyond and about 10 years before the red and white uniform was introduced in the Prime timeline.
> 
> This is just some fun action/adventure stuff, nothing seriously angsty or philosophical; also, despite the presence of ~tentacles~, there is no sex in this, tentacle or otherwise.
> 
> Also, thanks to notfrejya for beta-ing.

He glanced down at the clock on the panel on the arm of his chair. Not even halfway through the shift. He drummed his fingers against the chair’s metal arm.

 

“Captain.” A voice behind him interjected quietly.

 

Kirk twisted around to see Spock turned towards him, features pursed in a semi-moue of disapproval. “Mr. Spock?”

 

Spock narrowed his eyes at a Kirk’s restless hand, which he immediately stilled with a look of penitence. “Ah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to distract you.”

 

Spock turned back to his console with a silent nod —  _ God, sometimes he still acts like a teacher _ — consigning him to his blank thoughts once again.

 

There was a sense of restlessness in him. It extended to the rest of the crew, he felt, especially the bridge crew.

 

They’d had an abnormally quiet few months. There had been a particularly tense set of negotiations about ten weeks ago, but since then they had barely seen a scrap of excitement. There had been no exploration, no away missions, no red alerts — no new planets even, because Starfleet had diverted them to an especially lifeless corner of the Maxia Sector. 

 

Even the bridge, busy and hive-like as it was, couldn’t hold his attention today. It was mostly quiet, except for the ship’s own humming and the tap of fingers on keyboards. Sulu and Chekov conversed softly and someone — Lieutenant Chapin, he thinks — seemed to have a cough. It all built to a gentle murmur, the kind that would usually be comforting. Now, it was grating. He missed the colours of the old uniforms, too — the new ones made for a fine figure, but it made distinguishing the different divisions a thousand times harder and condemned them all to a monotony of red and white at the same time.

 

A soft ping interrupted his reverie. It wasn’t an unusual sound, but it held the promise of something new. He told himself not to get excited — he’d reacted like that several times since his cabin fever had set in, and each time it had resulted in disappointment when it had proved to be something inane. Still, he waited on tenterhooks for a the next few moments, debating whether or not to bite the bullet and simply ask what it had been. He had nearly resolved to do so when Sulu swung his chair around to face him.

 

“Sir, our current course takes us into the Maxia Epsilon system, with us ending in an orbit around the central star.”

 

“Yes.” Kirk said, puzzled by Sulu’s flat repetition of fact. “Mr. Spock informs me that the sciences division wish to collect data on it.”

 

“Well, yes, sir. But the computer’s just flagged something unusual.”

 

“Really?”

 

“According to this, there’s a planet that has been marked as ‘of interest’, but it gives no further information.”

 

“That’s odd.” Kirk frowned lightly. “Spock, do you know anything?”

 

Spock picked up his PADD and came to stand beside Kirk.

 

“I agree with Lieutenant Sulu. This is most peculiar.”

 

Spock tapped his PADD and the image of a planet, followed by a few lines of text, appeared on the screen in front of them, seemingly superimposed over the kaleidoscopic colors of warp speed.

 

Spock continued to narrated. “It’s name is Maxia Epsilon IV, abbreviated MXE-4. It was first recorded by the U.S.S.  _ Lancaster _ in 2211. Initial surveys indicate that it is a Class M planet. It was categorised as ‘of extreme interest’, as Sulu has already mentioned. However, there is little information recorded in Starfleet’s archives.”

 

“That’s strange. Why would they do something like that? Normal protocol would warrant a little investigation, at least.”

 

Spock scrolled through the file, mainly composed of blank fields, eyes scanning through the text swiftly.

 

“It seems that the regular sandstorms and electrical storms prevent further scans. Any further exploration would have to be done manually. If I recall correctly, Starfleet lost interest in the sector because its distance from other Federation planets and the sparsity of intelligent life or useful or colonisable ecosystems made exploration of unviable at the time. That would explain why they choose to simply abandon it, rather than expend valuable resources.”

 

“Yeah, but that was years ago!” Kirk exclaimed. “Surely someone’s tried.”

 

“It appears not, Captain. Besides, even now, the majority of this sector is considered worthless.”

 

Kirk hummed slightly, still thinking. “Hm. Well, thanks, Spock.”

 

Spock inclined his head. “You are welcome.”

 

Spock returned to his usual position.

 

“Mr. Sulu,” Kirk addressed the man, who was still facing him. “If we were to divert our course to MXE-4, what would the impact be?”

 

“Minor, sir. In terms of time and fuel, the impact would be negligible.”

 

“So we could go into orbit around the planet for, say, a day, while we attempted to scan it—”

 

“Captain, the file notes that scans have previously been inconclusive.”

 

Kirk glanced over his shoulder to see his First Officer staring at him intently, as seemed to be his default.

 

“We’ve got superior equipment now. It’s worth a try.” he replied, turning back towards the screen. “It’ll delay us slightly, but only by a day or so. Is that acceptable, Mr. Spock?”

 

He faced forwards, unable to see him, but he practically felt Spock grit his teeth in annoyance. It frustrated him whenever Kirk failed to adhere to schedule, which happened frighteningly often.

 

“Of course, Captain.”

 

* * *

 

“Spock, do you have an update on the scans?”

 

“All have proven inconclusive.” Spock said succinctly. “Though there are several that we are still yet to attempt.”

 

They were orbiting Maxia Epsilon IV. Kirk had assembled the senior command team in one of the conference rooms, more because he imagined that Spock might have an aneurysm if he didn’t than any actual need. He’d already made his decision.

 

“I’ll lead an away team down to the planet’s surface, which should let the science division carry out all the necessary tests.”

 

“Captain, I strongly recommend against that. We have no way of knowing the risks present, aside from the information recorded by the  _ Lancaster _ .” Spock continued. “Even that information is fractured and uncertain; the only confirmed facts are the presence of a breathable atmosphere and a lack of sapient life forms on the planet’s surface.”

 

“Right…”

 

“Additionally, I have been informed that there are indications of an oncoming sandstorm in the region we would need to study.”

 

“Which is a bit of a problem, sir.” Scotty added. “The transporter can’t work with that.”

 

McCoy spoke up. “Can’t you just wait for it to pass?”

 

“It appears not, Doctor. Sandstorms seem to be a common phenomenon on MXE-4, so it could be months before there’s a gap of more than a day or two between storms. We require at least two or three days to conduct research, since we are unable to rely on scan data.”

 

“So we’d need to be prepared to be there overnight…” Kirk mused. He directed his next sentence at Spock. “What’s your final verdict?”’

 

“It is my function on this ship to provide advice to the best of my ability and my advice, quite simply, is ‘no.’”

 

“Okay, thanks for the input.” he said. “It’s a neat opportunity, though.”

 

“Neat? Did you just say ‘neat’?” McCoy interjected, voice on the verge of hysterical. “Are you sure this isn't just you being bored? You heard the Vulcan — it could be a death trap down there!”

 

“Nonsense!” Kirk replied brightly. “It’ll be fine.”

 

“You say that about everything.” McCoy complained. “You say that even as you’re bleeding out in the medbay. I have the records to prove it.”

 

Kirk fixed him with one of his half-pleading, half-resolute expressions — the kind to which McCoy always seemed compelled to yield.

 

“It’s a bad idea.” McCoy said in a borderline hiss. “But I know that you’ve already made up your mind. Just don’t come whining to me if it goes down the pan.”

 

“Spock, prepare your team. I’ll assign a few security personnel as well.”

 

Spock nodded. “My team will be ready within a few hours. We have already begun preparations.”

 

_ Damn, he knows me too well. _ Kirk thought ruefully.  _ Knew what I was going to do even as he tried to talk me out of it. _

 

“Okay. Decision made. Good meeting.”

 

Kirk left, leaving the rest of them exchanging exasperated and concerned glances.


	2. Chapter 2

The two of them passed through the ship at great speed, people scattering to clear a path as they strode through the corridors.

 

Spock used the opportunity to make Kirk aware of the details he’d either ignored or avoided earlier.

 

“MXE-4 is a relatively small planet and appears oddly uniform in climate, as the entire planet appears to share a single biome. The only notable variation seems to be a wide strip around the equator that is too hot to be habitable.”

 

“Well, that’s weird. Shouldn’t be a problem, though, right?”

 

“Negative, Captain. I have located an area that I believe would be ideal for the tests, and Mr. Scott assures me that the transporter will not struggle to deliver us there.” Spock handed Kirk his PADD. Kirk scanned it briefly, checking over Spock’s conclusions.

 

He handed it back. “Anything else I need to know? I feel guilty that I’ve been so out of touch with the planning.”

 

He did feel guilty — he’d been too swept up in the anticipation of the excursion to be as attentive and as prepared as a Captain should be. Luckily, Spock didn’t seem to pass judgement.

 

“The sandstorm will almost definitely be an issue, as neither the transporter nor our communicators can penetrate it. To employ a human turn of phrase: we will be on our own.”

 

“How long’s it going to be a problem?”

 

“I estimate between two and four days. However, we are prepared for it to last a week and we will still be able to carry out most of our tests. In fact, it could be useful for us to observe the phenomenon.”

 

“Good, good. Thanks for the information, too.”

 

Spock nodded briefly, their conversation fading. Walking as fast as they were, it only took them another thirty seconds or so to reach their destination.

 

Doctor McCoy accosted them just before they entered the transporter room. The pair paused, turning to face him.

 

McCoy didn’t mince his words. “This is still a terrible idea. I’m just glad I’m not going with you.”

 

“I concur.”

 

“Don’t agree with me that easily, it makes me—”

 

“Makes you uncomfortable, we know.” Kirk interrupted with a grin. “And you two are just pessimists! It’ll be fine. Might even be useful.”

 

He walked between the two of them, disappearing into the transporter room.

 

McCoy sighed pointedly. “Dammit, Spock, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

 

“Surely you’ve realised by now, doctor, that if I had the power to do so I would have exercised it on numerous previous occasions.”

 

“Still,” McCoy said, accompanying the statement with a half-hearted glare. “Try.”

 

“Of course, doctor. As always.” Spock’s tone was sincere. “He does seem somewhat more impatient than usual.”

 

“It’s recklessness, that’s what it is. He goes stir-crazy quickly, y’know, and we haven’t had to fight for our lives for at least a few months. He’s just bored. I’m hoping this’ll get it out of his system.”

 

* * *

 

When the golden stars of the transporter dissolved, their party was left blinking against a sudden onslaught of sunlight. There were six of them, making it a slightly larger group than usual: Kirk, Spock, two security officers (whose names Kirk could just about dredge from the depths of his mind —  Lieutenants Prescott and Jeffreys), and two science personnel (Robert D’Amato, the senior geologist, and Ensign Sara George, a junior officer).

 

Kirk looked around at them, checking that they were all safe, sound, and sans evil twin. Comfortingly, the only abnormal thing about them seemed to be the eagerness with which they sampled the air.

 

Prescott caught his quizzical glance and smiled self-consciously. “It’s been a while since I’ve been landside.”

 

“Oh, of course.” Kirk exclaimed. “Trust me, I feel the same way.”

 

He’d forgotten that the crew hadn’t had a single day of short leave since before the two-months-prior negotiations — there had been no convenient time or place and whilst everyone was getting restless, they hadn’t surpassed the regulated maximum period yet.

 

“We’ll set up a base camp first,” Kirk decided. “I don’t want us to be caught out by the storm.”

 

They’d beamed down into a valley. It was massive — it was wide and deep enough to comfortably park the _Enterprise_ there, stretching far into the horizon. They were pushed right to one end of it, on a kind of rocky hill that sloped up to the normal, level surface of the planet. Spock had suggested the location for two reasons: the valley would shelter them from the worst of the winds and the hill kept them elevated and safe from any possible life forms. As Kirk looked around, he thought that that was unlikely to be an issue — everywhere there was a red-brown, dusty, sandy type of soil that looked utterly incapable of sustaining life. The valley was formed by two walls of sheer cliffs, which were pockmarked with what looked to be cave openings. Kirk could already feel the dryness of his mouth and the tickle of sweat running down the his face.

 

They decided to erect their tents in a shallow alcove in the cliff on one side of the valley, not twenty steps from where they had initially materialised. It would be a bit of a hike to get anywhere, but the security was undoubtedly invaluable. They ended up with four tents — Kirk and Spock sharing, as had become their habit — in a clustered semicircle around a pile of their scientific equipment.

 

When Kirk judged their camp complete, he nodded to Spock. “Okay, we’re set up here. You can take D’Amato and George and get going whenever you’re ready. You should probably take Jeffreys with you, too. Just in case.”

 

Spock nodded his assent. “We will start with basic geology samples and meteorology readings today.”

 

“Up or down?”

 

Spock looked temporarily bewildered until he realised Kirk was referring to the true surface above them and the valley.

 

“The…” he gestured upwards, uncharacteristically vaguely.

 

“Yeah, I don’t know what to call it either. The plateau?”

 

Spock accepted that, albeit in a dissatisfied manner.

 

* * *

 

Kirk spent the next few hours trying to be useful, which mainly involved him fussing over small details of their preparations to face the storm and making awkward conversation with Prescott. Internally, Kirk decided that he was a nice enough man and quite pleasant to be around, but they just weren’t on the same page in life.

 

At some point, the other man wandered off — whether to join the explorers on the plateau or to find a suitable toilet location or simply to spare them the forced interactions, Kirk didn’t know. Or care, really. The planet seemed safe enough and Kirk hardly needed a chaperone, regardless of his friend’s advice.

 

He took the opportunity to fish the communicator from his pocket and phone home.

 

“Kirk to _Enterprise_.”

 

“Receiving you, Captain.” Uhura’s voice, calm and certain, came through his communicator clearly.

 

“Are there any problems with the transmission? I’m worried that being in this valley might cause issues.”

 

“Not currently, although it would likely be an issue if you were under an overhang or such. The sandstorm will almost definitely knock out your communications though.”

 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” he said. “How long until the storm?”

 

There was a moment of silence while Uhura conferred with somebody else. “Chekov reassures me that nothing’s really changed. It’s progressing as expected, should hit you tomorrow, late morning.”

 

“Remind me, how long are the days here?”

 

“Around twenty hours, Chekov says. Though most planets of that size rotate much more quickly, this one doesn’t.”

 

“Good to know, good to know.” he replied. “How are things up there?”

 

“Going well, at the moment. Sulu seems to know what he’s doing.”

 

Kirk remembered Qo'nos. That was when he’d known that Sulu was truly cut out for command.

 

“I’m sure he does. Anyway, that’s all for now, thanks.” he said. “Kirk out.”

 

* * *

 

Even on a new planet, Kirk was restless. As the light dwindled in the sky above them, he decided to build a campfire. Utterly purposeless as it was — they’d brought their own heat and light sources with them — the exercise prompted a sense of nostalgia. He ranged across their hill, gathering the desiccated stalks and leaves of the hardy plants that pushed through the fissures in the stones, assembling them into a picture-book-worthy pyramid a few metres from their actual camp.

 

When he was finished, he dragged an empty crate over to it. He flopped down onto his makeshift chair as the last traces of the sun disappeared from the skies above. A simple phaser blast was enough to ignite the careful A-frame that he’d constructed, then the fire caught quickly. The flames were small but merry, warm. They were hypnotic.

 

Though he hadn’t heard the catlike, silent steps approaching, his reverie was snapped by the smell of freshly-opened rations. Kirk wrinkled his nose at it, but thanked Spock for its delivery nonetheless. Carefully, Spock lowered himself into a cross-legged position on the ground opposite him.

 

For a while, there was relative quiet — just the crackling of the flames and the occasional scrape of a spoon on a rations container.

 

Eventually, Kirk spoke, fearing that they would turn to statues if he did not. “So, Spock, how’s it going?”

 

“Well.”

 

No one had ever accused Vulcans of being sparkling conversationalists, he supposed.

 

“Found anything interesting?”

 

“Nothing particularly unusual, as of yet.” Spock said. “Except I must admit that I am surprised that we have not found more evidence of life.”

 

“Oh?” Kirk replied. “I’m not expert, but there seem to be plenty of plants around. What were you expecting?”

 

“There is a range of flora, about as much as expected. Yet we have yet to find even a trace of a mammal or bird or an amphibian. Although we will be unable to analyse them until we return to the ship, we have discovered a variety of unicellular organisms too.”

 

“But d’you think this planet is capable of sustaining that kind of stuff?”

 

“Easily. Soil samples show an unusually high mineral content. It appears to be an extremely fertile planet, ideal for colonisation, assuming that there are no obvious dangers or disadvantages that we have yet to discover. Aside from the area around the equator, naturally.”

 

“Admit it,” Kirk teased. “I was right to bring us down here.”

 

Spock seemed consternated. “It is true that our initial investigations indicated that exploration was warranted, but I still strenuously object to the risk involved. It was an illogical decision. We could simply have informed Starfleet, who would have provided clear instructions on risk mitigation, as well as giving us additional time to plan and formulate contingencies.”

 

Kirk raised an eyebrow. “I was right, though.”

 

Spock, diplomatically, chose not to reply.

 

“Besides,” Kirk joked. “The _Enterprise_ hasn’t done anything interesting for the last three and a half months. Have to earn our keep or Starfleet’ll scrap us.”

 

“I don’t quite understand —”

 

Kirk sighed, interrupting in a way that would have rude if they had not been so close. “It was a joke, Spock.”

 

* * *

 

“What about fish?” Kirk queried the next morning.

 

Spock looked at him questioningly. “Fish?”

 

“Last night you were talking about the lack of more complex organisms, right?” Spock nodded. “So what about aquatic life? I know we’ve not found any water yet, but there’s got to be some water here. Otherwise the plants wouldn’t be able to survive.”

 

“Yes. However, that may be due to the water table, as opposed to a body of water.”

 

Kirk nodded, almost aggressively enthusiastic. “Sure — you’re probably right. Equally, though, some of the cave network could be flooded.”

 

“Potentially.” Spock replied, mind almost visibly whirring. The closest that Spock’s Vulcan upbringing would let him get to excitement, Kirk privately thought.

 

“Well, the sandstorm is going to hit in a few hours.” That much was obvious. The winds were beginning to build, rattling their tents uncomfortably. “I know we said that we’d probably be fine if we just stayed here, but it would be safer if we had some proper shelter.”

 

Realisation dawned rapidly. “You are suggesting that we could relocate inside the caves for the duration of the storm. Thus giving us the time to explore them, as well as guaranteeing us better protection.”

 

“And also to locate a water source as a backup for if this storm lasts longer than we thought.”

 

Spock nodded in agreement.

 

Now that the decision was made, time was of the essence. They picked a cave at random — the closest to their camp — and simply hoped that it was deep enough to be connected to the other caves.

 

Thus ensured a frantic twenty minutes of lifting-running-depositing, over and over again. Then it was a matter of sorting-organising-fixing. It was about an hour before Kirk allowed himself to take a step back and breath.

 

Their tents were all set up again, this time about fifteen metres from the entrance of the cave. The sand blocked the majority of the sunlight, so artificial lanterns were dotted around the place, allowing them to see.

 

Suddenly without purpose, now that their camp was reassembled, the six of them stood around awkwardly. Kirk coughed to break the silence. “Now...we may as well make the most of this. Spock, D’Amato, George: I assume there are things that you can be doing?” He hated how vague and weak that sounded, but the three nodded anyway.

 

“Good, good. Prescott, Jeffreys: we’ll go and try to find some source of water. OK?”

 

The security officers replied in near-unison. “Yes, sir.”

 

Kirk rubbed his hands together — whether in fear or in anticipation wasn’t clear. “Let’s get going, then.”


	3. Chapter 3

Kirk trudged up the hill, keeping his head down. The sun was bright at midday, though it now had a reddish tinge to it — residual dust in the atmosphere, Spock said. He’d been traversing back and forth across the flat bottom of the valley below, hopelessly trying to find a signal to contact the ship. It was pointless, he knew, but better than doing nothing. He’d sent Prescott and Jeffreys up and out of the valley to see if that could help. Solid stone tended to block radio waves pretty well, so he hoped that the open space would let them get a signal. Even though the storm had passed after four days, they’d not yet managed to re-establish a connection to the ship. Even Spock was perplexed by it.

 

Suddenly, his foot caught in a crevice between two rocks, sending him unceremoniously to the ground. He hit the dirt with a thump, front-first. It took him a second to regain his bearings, then he pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he did so. Glumly, he surveyed his hands; he brushed the detritus off them, but there were several lines of red that he knew would be annoying for days. Papercut Effect, he’d called it when he was a kid — when it came to scratches and scrapes the small ones always seemed to hurt more than the big ones.

 

He briefly checked over the rest of his body, relieved to find that his only other injury was a cut one of his thighs. The skin around it was inflamed and angry and the amount of grit and gravel in it couldn’t be healthy, but he’d had a hell of a lot worse. And it wasn’t anywhere near bad enough for Bones to yell at him when they got back to the  _ Enterprise _ . Always a bonus, that.

 

Ruefully, he turned back and headed down the hill.

 

The others were still back at their camp, which they’d relocated to the original position, although they tactfully ignored his abrupt return. They’d long since concluded their investigations and there was little else to be done. As Kirk searched for a medical kit, Spock emerged from their tent, where he’d been analysing the limited data that they had to try and reconnect them to the ship.

 

“Captain, if you are attempting to procure a medical kit,” Spock said, scooping up a small case from the top of a pile of equipment. “It is here.”

 

“Ah, thanks.” Kirk replied, taking it from him. “It’s not serious, but I’d rather not get an infection.”

 

“I am aware.” Spock said, tone implying that he was almost offended that Kirk thought that he would be so relaxed if he was genuinely injured.

 

Kirk sank down onto a crate. The cuts on his hands complained as he fumbled with the clasp on the case. Evidently, his pain had shown on his face, because Spock took the case and crouched in front of him. Usually, Kirk would complain about being treated like a child, but that wasn’t going to get him anywhere with Spock. And it wasn’t like either of them had anything better to be doing.

 

There was a distinct  _ snap _ as Spock opened a transparent bottle of disinfectant, a  _ crinkle _ as he tore open a packet of sterile cotton.

 

“Good thing Bones isn’t here, right?”

 

“Doctor McCoy’s emotional outbursts stem solely from his concern.” Spock said, as he scrutinised Kirk’s leg. “A concern which is well-founded.”

 

Spock seemed to change his mind — or to  _ reevaluate the situation _ , as he would prefer it phrased — and set the packet and bottle down. Instead, he opted for an intimidatingly pincerlike pair of tweezers.

 

He wasn’t hesitant or clumsy, for which Kirk was glad. Aside from the occasional, moderate spike of discomfort, he barely felt a thing. Nonetheless, he persisted in talking. Ostensibly a method of ignoring pain, realistically a way to stop him dying of boredom.

 

He took on a mock-offended tone. “Are you suggesting that I’m accident-prone?”

 

“Negative. However, you regularly display a complete disregard for your own safety.”

 

“So you’ve said before. Bit hypocritical, coming for you, though.”

 

“The risks  _ I _ take are calculated-” Spock cut himself off, realising that it would be utterly joyless to push this particular point. Instead, he settled for a discreetly reproachful expression. He continued tweezing out grit until Kirk began to shift with boredom. Then he reverted to his original plan.

 

Kirk flinched as the antiseptic came into contain with the cut for the first time, stinging painfully. 

 

“My apologies.”

 

“No, no,” Kirk waved his concern away. “It’s fine.”

 

Cleaning and dressing his leg was short work under Spock’s skilled hands, thankfully.

 

Then Spock extended a single hand, palm up. So unusual was this gesture, given the impropriety hand-to-skin contact for a Vulcan, that it took Kirk a second to fully grasp his intention. Tentatively, Kirk allowed his hand to hover above Spock’s.

 

Spock held his wrist in one hand, using the other to clean the abrasions with precise, methodical strokes. At one point, Kirk’s arm tensed suddenly, making Spock worry that he’d hurt him unduly.

 

“No, don’t worry,” Kirk said, squirming ever-so-slightly. “It’s just...ticklish.”

 

“Ticklish?”

 

“Yeah. Y’know, kind of itchy, but not?”

 

Unconvinced, Spock raised an eyebrow.

 

“Okay, that was a terrible explanation. It’s more like…”

 

While Kirk pondered out loud how best to describe  _ ticklishness,  _ Spock continued to work. Something such as this – this amount of physical contact – was incredibly intimate by Vulcan standards. Oddly, though, he didn’t feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. It felt natural, pleasant, even.

 

It didn’t last long. Both hands were thoroughly disinfected and gravel-free, so he yielded them back to Kirk.

 

“If there is anything more that I can do-” Spock cut himself off.

 

“I’d better not keep you from finding us a way out of here.” Kirk smiled. “But thanks.”

 

* * *

 

It was not half an hour later than Spock declared, unexpectedly, that he had managed to contact the ship. 

 

“I have requested that they stand ready to transport upon your command.” he said.

 

That led to a wild flurry of movement — for a group of people so enthusiastic to arrive, they were certainly eager to leave. Days of being trapped in a cave would do that to you, even if you weren’t entirely idle.

 

They were almost ready to go when Kirk’s communicator beeped. “Captain, we’ve a small problem.” Scotty said.

 

“What? What’s the problem?”

 

“It’s the dust in the atmosphere, sir,” he said, his worry palpable. “It’s highly unpredictable an’ it’s wreaking havoc on our targeting system. We’ve only got a short window to get you back up here. A few minutes, at most.”

 

Without a hesitation, Kirk snapped the device shut. “Everyone, get moving!”

 

Prescott heaved a final box onto the pyramid they’d built, the exertion colouring his face. “That’s the last of it, I think. Unless we left anything in the cave, but I don’t remember-”

 

“We did.” D’Amato’s face had suddenly dropped. “A crate. Geological samples.”

 

Kirk had never particularly liked D’Amato, had always found him too arrogant, and in that moment even the pacifist in him was quite prepared to punch him.

 

Luckily, Spock interrupted before he could. “Which samples?”

 

D’Amato couldn’t even look them in the eyes. “All of them.”

 

“I will retrieve them.” Spock stated calmly.

 

“There’s no time!”

 

“If we do not return with the samples, this expedition will yield little practical information.”

 

“We can’t just leave you here!”

 

“I will beam back aboard in a few minutes.”

 

“By the time you’re ready to go, the window might have closed. We might not be able to get you for another few days.”

 

“It is a risk that must be taken. It is unlikely that we will have any opportunity to return.”

 

Kirk could have screamed in frustration. Spock was right, theoretically. But it seemed ridiculous — such a risk for something that may well be fruitless?

 

Spock, however, had no such qualms. Abruptly, he turned, heading swiftly in the direction of the cave.

 

“Spock!” Kirk called after him. “Spock! Get back here!”

 

Spock didn’t look back.

 

Cursing, he pulled out his communicator again. “Scotty, I need you to beam everyone else up first — everyone except Spock and I.”

 

“Sir, I can’t promise that I’ll be able to transport you unless its within the next thirty seconds-”

 

“I know, Scotty, but we don’t have much choice here.”

 

The other man sounded trouble, even as he acquiesced. “Aye, sir.”

 

“Good.”

 

Kirk didn’t stop to watch the others disappear. He was already gone, running after Spock.

 

* * *

 

“Kirk to  _ Enterprise _ .  _ Enterprise _ , come in.”

 

Nothing.

 

He paced up and down in front of the mouth of the cave.

 

“Uhura! Scotty! Sulu!”

 

Nothing. The line was dead.

 

He gave up, retreating to cave. He took the wall opposite Spock, slumping to the ground unceremoniously.

 

Kirk scratched at his chin. He’d forgotten how annoying a beard could be, especially when it was only a few days old. He’d been looking forward to shaving back onboard the ship, but now that small pleasure had been postponed… indefinitely.

 

Suddenly, Spock spoke up. “Captain, you have my apologies.”

 

“What?” Kirk replied, distracted.

 

“You have my apologies. This is my fault.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Spock. You were just doing your job.”

 

Initially, Kirk had been furious. That had faded away quickly, though. One advantage to a few year’s experience was that he flew off the handle slower.

 

“Be that as it may, I am still responsible for this situation. I should have been more thorough in my checks earlier.”

 

“You’re allowed to miss things occasionally. Especially when everything’s as chaotic as today Mistakes get made. Besides, if anyone’s at fault, it’s D’Amato.” Kirk replied. “Some geologist.”

 

Kirk sighed. “And it’s my fault we’re down here anyway. That was – I was stupid. Should’ve listened to all of you.”

 

He fully expected Spock to agree with him – not because Spock was unforgiving or critical, but because he always told the truth.

 

But it appeared that Spock could still surprise him, all these years down the line.

Briefly, there was silence.

 

“We must locate water.”

 

A curse. “We really don’t have anything, do we?”

 

“I would estimate that we have, between us: two communicators, two phasers, and a crate of samples.”

 

“Oh, and I have a flashlight.” Kirk added.

 

“It is not a lot,” Spock conceded. “And it is imperative that we locate water as soon as possible. As you know, there are rivulets and such, which we found to be drinkable. Whether we can collect enough to drink – that is a different matter.”

 

Kirk hauled himself off the ground. “Well, lead on.”

 

* * *

 

They went downwards. It was slow going, illuminated by a single flashlight beam. It was dark and damp, and Kirk was extremely glad that there were few insects, though his skin crawled all the same. He trusted to lead him, to find what they needed. Their trek seemed both endless and instantaneous – a lack of bearings or time markers eventually allowed Kirk to drift into a waking reverie.

 

They moved, unexpectedly, from near-impenetrable darkness to a twilight grey. The space had widened into a full cave, the ceiling surprisingly far above them. When Kirk craned his neck and looked upwards, he saw that there was a minute fissure that allowed the sunlight to creep in.

 

A sigh of relief: there was a hole in the floor, a rough circle about the size of a transporter pad, serving as a portal to a flooded chamber below. They made their way over to it with less care that they should have, but the itch of dehydration erased any usual tendencies of caution.

 

Side by side, they knelt at the water’s edge. The water was clear enough to make out the bed of rock below it.

 

“The water you tested a couple of days ago – it was drinkable, right?”

 

“Yes,” came the hesitant response. “But our tests were not conclusive. Only an indicator.”

 

Kirk examined the water. “We don’t have much choice here. At least it’s not stagnant. And…”

 

He dipped his hand into the water, lifting it to eye-level and then letting it run through his fingers. The delicate sound of the droplets colliding with the water’s surface was uniquely enchanting. 

 

“...it’s crystal clear.”

 

Spock was quiet for a minute. “As you said yourself, we have no other options. Dehydration in an unknown environment is tantamount to a death sentence.”

 

“Well, that’s cheerful.” Kirk shook his head. “Here goes nothing, I guess.”

 

They had nothing to use as a container, so resorted to inexpertly scooping up the water in cupped hands. The liquid was cold and relievingly tasteless.

 

Once his thirst was quenched, Kirk doused his face and neck, squeezing his eyes shut as the droplets trailed over his skin. His bliss was interrupted, momentarily, when his hand caught on the uneven floor, breaking the newly formed scabs. Although he could hear McCoy lecturing him as he did so ( _ infections _ , Jim, think about the  _ bacteria _ ), he plunged it into the water to remove the blood. He quickly tamped down the pain.

 

It was only when he opened his eyes again that he looked into the water, catching a most fleeting dash of colour. Red, he thought, will everything else on this blasted planet.

 

But it vanished as soon as he glimpsed it and he quickly convinced himself that it had been his mind playing tricks. He returned to cursory ablutions, revelling in the feeling of cleanliness and the pleasurable chill that it brought — sensations of which he had been deprived over the past few days. 

 

Next to him, Spock did the same, if more thoroughly. For once, his First Officer seemed completely distracted, eyes half-closed and completely oblivious to the world around him. It was out of character, but observing him mildly amused Kirk, so he avoided interrupting. In an odd way, it was sort of endearing, like watching a cat groom itself. It could have been five minutes or twenty that they spent in that way, at peace. Somehow, a sense of relaxation settled over Kirk, even as part of his brain tried to remind him that he was stranded on an alien planet. He was successful in ignoring it.

 

Until he caught the red again.

 

This time, it was definitely there. A bright red arm, wavering languidly, like an anemone. So close that he could reach out and touch it. Unconsciously, Kirk leaned closer — so close that his breath caused ripples on the water’s surface.

 

“Spock,” he whisper, rousing the other man. “What the hell is that?”

 

Spock peered at it.

 

“I believe that it is a tentacle.”

 

Immediately reddening, Kirk had to suppress several memories that were somewhat...  _ tentacle related _ .

 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, sitting up as he did so. “A tentacle?”

 

“Yes. Like some sea plants and Cephalopods found on Earth.”

 

“So, we’re on a desert planet...and there’s an octopus.”

 

“Possibly. That would be remarkable, considering that there are no recorded freshwater-dwelling Cephalopods.” Spock tilted his head, a habit that Kirk noticed he tended towards whenever he encountered something new or perplexing. “However, if that is the case, then the creature must be sizeable, given the breadth of this particular appendage.”

 

_ Not now! There’s no time for this.  _ Kirk internally scolded himself as his mind wandered again.

 

“Given that I am not a specialist in marine biology, I cannot tell. Large, though.”

 

“‘Dammit, man, I’m a doctor, not a marine biologist!’” Kirk said, à la McCoy, complete with a passable imitation of a Georgian accent.

 

Spock pulled his eyes away from the tentacle to stare at Kirk. He seemed unimpressed.

 

“Right, sorry.” Kirk attempted to look contrite, but the situation was entirely too hilarious for him to keep a completely straight face. “Is it dangerous?”

 

“Again, I cannot comment.”

 

As if sensing their fascination, the tentacle began to drift upwards.

 

It broke the surface, oozing over the rock surrounding the pool. It was slow, like it was probing its surroundings. The two of them backpedaled slightly to make sure they stayed out of reach.

 

“I know that octopi can survive outside of water, but this isn’t normal, right?”

 

“I would say not.”

 

“Not going to lie,” Kirk’s voice had the slightest hint of panic in it now. “It kind of looks like it’s moving towards us.”

 

It was.

 

“There is no reason to assume that it is has malignant intentions. Octopi generally subsist on a diet of small molluscs and crustaceans.”

 

“What about-” Kirk wiggled his fingers vaguely. “Toxins and stuff?”

 

“If I recall correctly, most octopi pose no threat to humans or Vulcans in that way.” Spock said, remembering hours of biology learnt as a child. “Although there is one species, found on Earth, that is highly venomous — the blue-ringed octopus.”

 

“How venomous is ‘venomous?’”

 

“Each octopus carries enough venom to kill twenty-six adult humans. It causes severe paralysis, causing victims to die within minutes. Currently, there is no known antivenom.”

 

“Then let’s hope that our friend here isn’t closely related.”

 

“Indeed. In fact, may I recommend that we vacate this cave?”

 

“Absolutely, Mr. Spock. Absolutely.”

 

With pantomime caution, the two propelled themselves to their feet.

 

The tentacle seemed to track their movement, pushing itself forward across the rocky floor with alarming pace.

 

“Is it  _ following  _ us?” Kirk hissed.

 

He received no response, as both of them watched, transfixed, as it wormed its way towards him. It was glistening – from the water, presumably – in a way that was uncomfortably visceral. Its red flesh contracted and relaxed in a way that was hypnotic, if repulsive, to watch.

 

“How – how is it doing that? It can’t  _ see _ us, so…”

 

He snapped his fingers as if trying to summon a memory.

 

“Wait – don’t octopi smell through their arms? That must be what it’s doing.”

 

Spock nodded. “Yes, that would appear to be the most logical explanation.”

 

Kirk continued, now on a roll. “And us being in contact with the water could have...alerted it to our presence. And -”

 

The tentacle shot across the floor, abandoning any pretense of lethargy. Kirk yelped as it came into contact with his shoe, forcing him to leap backwards.

 

“Go, go! Run!” he shouted at Spock.

 

The other man heeded his advice, the two of them taking off into the tunnel from which they’d emerged.

 

The cave system was twisted and convoluted. Kirk ran blindly, Spock hot on his heels. Their harsh, panting breaths and wayward footstep echoed around them conspicuously. They went on and on and on, until their lungs were burning and fit to burst.

 

It was almost a relief when they hit a wall. Kirk skidded to a halt. He doubled over, loosening his belt to allow more air into his body. Spock, reaping the benefits of Vulcan physiology, was somewhat less exhausted, although his cheeks were tinged green with exertion nonetheless. He pulled Kirk into a crouch behind a small mass of rock that protruded from the wall, taking cover.

 

“Well,” Kirk gasped. “Something tells me that this planet isn’t ‘ideal for colonisation.’”

 

“I am inclined to agree.” Spock replied, the dire nature of their situation reflected in his voice by only a mild increase in volume.

 

Kirk laughed drily. “I’m too old for this.” 

 

“You’re thirty-five. Hardly old.” 

 

“I  _ feel _ old.” He shook his head. “Anyway, where is it?”

 

Spock peered over their little stone barrier like some kind of periscope.

 

“Unclear. We may have outrun it.”

 

“I mean-” Kirk broke off, somewhat self-conscious about his panic. He fiddled with the cloth around the cut on his thigh; the dressing had fallen away at some point during their mad flight and the scab had cracked, allowing blood to begin to seep away. “It is possible that it couldn’t get that far from the water.”

 

Spock hadn’t had a chance to reply before Kirk’s heart dropped: there was a rasping sound of flesh on stone, unmistakably drawing closer. Though it wasn’t visible, Kirk could feel the seconds until it appeared ticking down.

 

“Okay, so I guess it can.”

 

“In all likelihood, it is not venomous.” Even as he attempted to reassure his friend, Spock sounded doubtful. He was correct, but they both knew that there were other ways it could hurt them, maim them, or kill them.

 

“Octopi are carnivores! I’d rather not end up as an exotic Scooby snack!”

 

Spock looked suspicious. “What is a ‘Scooby snack?’”

 

“It’s just a thing from one of those old TV shows -” he caught himself. “Anyway, I’d rather not get eaten.”

 

“There’s no reason to assume that the creature views us as prey, seeing as there are no lifeforms like us on this planet.”

 

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. Damn these new uniforms! They were too constricting, made for starbase Admirals, not anyone trying to get anything done. He was going to file a complaint with Starfleet when they got off this planet.

 

“Spock.” Kirk said seriously. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to run the risk.”

 

Spock weighed up the options. “I concur.”

 

“In that case, we need a plan. The best we can do is get into the open space and hope that the  _ Enterprise _ will be able to beam us up. Now that the storm’s passed, we’ve got a better chance of that.”

 

Painfully aware of every second that slipped by, Kirk explained his plan in short, concise sentences. In true James-T-Kirk-style, his plan was somewhat skeleton. Be quiet. Don’t alert the creature. Find a path to the surface. Get into open air. Contact the  _ Enterprise _ .

 

In Kirk’s opinion, the advantage of his plan was its simplicity: there was nothing to confuse anyone. On the downside, it was a lot of  _ if _ and  _ maybe _ and  _ should _ . They weren’t even sure of how to retrace their footsteps to the surface, so they settled for running in the opposite direction to their pursuer.

 

Spock was clearly not happy with this plan, unsurprisingly.

 

But it seemed that he had no other cards to put on the table, so they reached a reluctant agreement.

 

“Are you ready?” Spock asked.

 

“Ready?” Kirk scoffed, feigning confidence. “I was born ready.”

 

And with those few words he was on his feet, treading as lightly as possible back down the passage. Luckily, it took only half a minute or so for them to backtrack to a fork. The sounds of the creature’s movement bounced around the system, making it impossible to locate it. For want of a better, more informed choice, they took the other branch. Kirk prayed to every deity in existence that they weren’t walking into the arms of their killer.

 

The sounds swiftly faded, much to his relief. Nonetheless, he dared to take only the shallowest breaths, wincing every time one of them misstepped and sent soundwaves rebounding off the stone.

 

They passed five, ten, fifteen minutes like that, progress painfully slow. Then twenty, thirty. Kirk told himself that they had to be close now.

 

And then.

 

A faint sound from behind them, rapidly growing.

 

“Captain…” Spock began.

 

“Yeah, is that…?” Kirk restricted himself to a murmur.

 

“I believe so.”

 

They picked up the pace, sacrificing silence for speed. Still, it wasn’t enough.

 

It grew, now as bad as it had been when they had been hiding. Then, terrifyingly, worse: every scrape now audible, a sound as grating as nails on a chalkboard.

 

They came to a sort of crossroads, where they hesitated momentarily to pick a path. Spock scanned the torch over the ground, catching a brief glint in one of the side passages. It took both of them a brief second to realise what, exactly, the beam had illuminated.

 

They took off, the thing surging through the tunnel behind them.

 

Kirk glanced over his shoulder and immediately wished that he hadn’t. The tentacle was no longer alone. He didn’t stop to count, but there were more, surging towards them without pause. He sped up.

 

He ran with blind faith, because he had no idea which way was up and the torch beam bounced too unsteadily for him to make out his surroundings anyway. Until – suddenly – there! The cave, the same they’d entered through.

 

Ahead of him, he saw Spock scoop something up, although his adrenaline-filled mind didn’t stop to comprehend what. They finally – finally – broke out into the sunlight and Kirk could have cried tears of joy.

 

Except.

 

It seemed that the creature wasn’t done with them yet.

 

Its tentacles burst through the mouth of the cave, twisting towards them at an unnatural rate. Contrary to Kirk’s silent hope, the light didn’t faze it in the slightest.

 

In fact, the reality was worse than that. They were on the hill at the end of the valley, where the walls were only a spitting distance apart. A perfect trap. Kirk was terrified, though somehow not surprised, when tentacles sprouted from caves on all sides, as well as the ones that had been chasing them.

 

They were surrounded. The creature was everywhere.

 

It was ludicrous. It looked like a scene from a low-budget, late twentieth century movie, the kind that were surprisingly popular at the Academy. All that was missing was a malevolent eye rising above them, though Kirk almost felt that there was one.

 

With nowhere left to run, now that the ‘flight’ option had been exhausted, the two of them snapped into fight mode. The absolute synergy that had been formed in the corridors of the  _ Narada _ and tempered over years on the frontier served them now. Phasers were drawn fluidly from holsters, backs and blind spots were covered.

 

Kirk took aim at the nearest tentacle; he fired. One of Spock’s hands was still occupied, but he held the other steady shooting repeatedly a tentacle that was flailing dangerously close.

 

A creature such as this wasn’t impervious to their phasers, but neither was it fatally wounded. Where a beam hit it, its flesh blistered, deforming its skin.

 

An electrical whine pierced the air, heralding the arrival of a small grey shuttle. Kirk could just make out the markings  _ NCC-1701 _ on its underside as it descended from the sandy sky, causing his heart to nearly melt with relief.

 

The shuttle landed as close to them as was physically possible without squashing them – about fifteen meters. Miraculously, its pilot managed to keep it away from the myriad of tentacles.

 

As the ramp slid open, Kirk began edging towards it, careful not to let up on the barrage of phaser shots. Step by step, he closed the distance, aware that Spock was close behind. Finally, he reached the ramp, throwing himself eagerly into the shuttle.

 

He glanced into the cockpit, noting the two familiar faces - Sulu and Chekov. Rescuing them was probably slightly below Sulu’s pay grade these days, but Kirk would swear to anyone that he was the best helmsman and pilot in the Federation.

 

He quickly turned his attention back to his companion, still a few metres from the ramp, though steadily reversing. As he backed into the shuttle, Spock fired a final shot.

 

Then the landing gear was up, the door closed, the shuttle in the air. Kirk was in a half–crouch, regaining his breath.

 

“Injured?” he asked.

 

“Negative.” Spock replied, relieved to find that Kirk could say the same. Besides the cuts on Kirk’s leg and hands, they were both untouched.

 

They lapsed into quiet, until Kirk saw what Spock had picked up. A medium-sized metal case, blank save for an identification number. The geological samples that had stuck them in this scenario in the first place.

 

“Really?” he exclaimed, incredulous.

 

“If we had not returned with the samples, our skirmish with the creature would have been pointless.”

 

Restricting his response to an eyeroll, he collapsed onto a seat.

 

“Mr. Sulu,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the bridge?”

 

“Well, sir, the transporter wasn’t working, so we had to go old school.”

 

“Well, yeah, but who’s in charge of my ship?”

 

“I left Mr. Scott in charge, although he didn’t seem to be too happy about it, if I’m honest.”

 

Kirk sighed, shook his head, and buried his face in his hands. Opposite him, Spock settled himself into a seat.

 

“Now, you know what I’m really looking forward to?” Kirk told the floor. “Bones yelling at me. Again.”


	4. Chapter 4

The shuttle touched down in the hanger of the  _ Enterprise _ with a gentle  _ whoosh _ .

 

Kirk released a long sigh, feeling a sense of security wash over him. He stood with a tired groan, already fantasizing about a comfortable bed and a solid night’s worth of sleep. At the same time, Sulu and Chekov unclicked their seat belts and stood, then began to make their way out of the shuttle. Kirk held out an arm to stop them.

 

“Thank you.” he told the two men earnestly. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I’m not sure what would have happened.”

 

“It was nothing-” Sulu began to say, before Kirk cut him off.

 

“It wasn’t nothing. It was exceptionally courageous and-” he paused, fumbling for the right phrasing. “I’m lucky to have a crew that’s as committed and as passionate as the two of you.”

 

Chekov positively beamed. “You are welcome! We’re just happy that you are safe.”

 

Kirk returned Chekov’s infectious smile, stepping aside to let them pass. He gestured for Spock to follow them.

 

Once outside, Spock handed the box to a nearby ensign. “Tell Lieutenant D’Amato to prioritise the analysis of these samples.”

 

She nodded briefly and strode away. Sulu and Chekov nodded respectfully, then took their leave as well.

 

Spock tucked his hands behind his back, turning to Kirk. For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other, taking the time to process and breathe. A smile crept onto Kirk’s face as he fully comprehended the sheer craziness of what they’d been through.

 

“All that for a box of rocks!” Kirk chuckled exhaustedly. “If you’d told me as a kid that I’d wind up fighting tentacled monsters, I’d’ve called you crazy. But here we are, I guess.”

 

“Indeed.” 

 

Kirk scraped together the remnants of his weary mind, mentally scrolling through the list of paperwork that this debacle was going to created. “Anyway, who’s writing the report for this one? Kinda feel like it’s my job, given that I’m the one that dragged us into the mess in the first place.”

 

“However, as planetary exploration falls under the science division, it would be more appropriate for me to handle the mission report.”

 

“To be honest, I was hoping you’d say that.” Kirk admitted, making no effort to hide his loatying of bureaucracy. “Thanks.”

 

Spock nodded. “I will also see that D’Amato is appropriately reprimanded for his carelessness.”

 

“It was a mistake. I don’t like the guy, but even I can see that.” His statement was followed my a light frown.

 

“His mistake was almost very costly. I will not be unfair, but something must be done. That level of incompetence is unacceptable.”

 

“I know, I know. Just...don’t be too harsh.”

 

Their conversation concluded, Kirk looked around properly for the first time. McCoy was waiting by the hangar doors, unreadable expression and folded arms in place across his chest.

 

“Say, Spock, what’s the chances of me getting out of here without being yelled at by Bones?”

 

“Given the doctor’s typical determination and disregarding the unlikely possibility of sudden catastrophe, I would estimate those odds at zero percent.”

 

“Brilliant.” Kirk deadpanned. “Time to face the music, then.”

 

Kirk crossed the hanger with sharp strides, Spock half a step behind, attempting to make it past McCoy and through the doors before the other man could get more than a few words out.

 

“Don’t you run away from me, Jim Kirk!”

 

Kirk kept walking.

 

It was useless. McCoy matched his steps easily.

 

He had produced, from nowhere, his tricorder and was scanning Kirk as they walked.

 

Kirk purposefully ignored it. “How have you been, Bones?” he opted for an overly conversational tone.

 

“Oh, me?” McCoy said, still determinedly running his tricorder over Kirk’s torso. “I’ve been just fine and dandy.”

 

“Great.”

 

“I want to check that leg of yours, though. Make sure it’s not infected.

 

McCoy made a not-so-subtle attempt to steer Kirk towards the corridor that led to the medbay Kirk resisted. Instead, he sped up, every fibre in his legs complaining as he did so. McCoy didn't try to keep up – he stopped dead, almost tripping up Spock as he did so.

 

“James Tiberius Kirk!”

 

Kirk froze. He got the sense that there was really no escaping this one. “What?” he said, almost meekly.

 

“Are you not going to mention the fact that you were almost killed by a space octopus less than half an hour ago?”

 

“Do we really need to?” He was met with an expression of utter disbelief. “Well, Bones, look at it this way: we’re all alive.”

 

“Barely!”

 

He turned to Spock, his tirade just beginning. “And you! S’chn T’gai Spock! What did I tell you before you left?”

 

“I’m impressed by your pronunciation, Doctor McCoy.”

 

“Don’t change the subject. What did I tell you?”

 

Spock looked as if he were barely suppressing an eyeroll. “To keep out of trouble.”

 

“Exactly.” He threw his arms up into the air. “God knows how you two are one of the best command teams in the ‘Fleet, you can’t even follow simple instructions.”

 

“It wasn’t even our fault this time.” Kirk complained. When McCoy looked at him disbelievingly, he amended his statement. “It was only partially our fault.”

 

“Trust me, I gave Prescott and Jeffreys the dressing down of their lives.” McCoy said. “Some security officers, leaving their commanding officers in a hostile situation.”

 

“Okay, so next time we’ll be more careful. Right, Spock?”

 

Spock, wisely, chose not to respond.

 

Meanwhile, McCoy’s heart seemed to palpitate as he spluttered: “That’s – that’s not – no! How about making sure that there  _ isn’t _ a next time?”

**Author's Note:**

> \- Personnel names liberally and inaccurately pillaged from bits of Star Trek canon (thanks to Memory Alpha/Beta)  
> \- I have no idea as to whether the weather conditions described would (theoretically) interfere with a transporter. I just needed an excuse to strand them.  
> \- I’m also 99% sure that the alien lifeform described is completely unrealistic, but it’s a fictional alien, so...  
> \- Pretty sure that my use of ‘plateau’ is incorrect, but I was at a loss as to what else to call it — if anyone has a more accurate description, please let me know.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tentacles (There's Always A Next Time)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834612) by [Sanwall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanwall/pseuds/Sanwall)




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